


Fairies, flowers, and inherent bloodshed

by Meowzbelife



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Cringe, Drugs, Hitting, How do u tag bruh, I make myself cry, Norman Invasion, So um yeah, Sorry Not Sorry, Stabbing, This is not historically accurate i think, Viking invasions, Violence, after years of being in a dead fandom i am told that we will have a new season, briefly mentions anglosaxon invasions, china is addicted with england too so don't worry, england gets addicted, england is a girl but he acts and dresses like a boy because reasons, england is the best fight me, englands childhood succ, handle it or leave scrub, he has Issues, i use songs and poems, im so sad, in the future it will get worse, its kinda intense, more tags and relationships to be added as the story continues, my first fanfiction don't make fun of me, normandy is an abusive dummy, sad and lonely england, sorry - Freeform, specifically opium, um this is dark i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:53:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28980678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowzbelife/pseuds/Meowzbelife
Summary: England's childhood was a bad time for him.England does not want to remember it.It was painful, lonely, and hateful.He always ignored it, hid it in the back of his head. Its not like anyone cared anyways. He was the black sheep of Europe. He was nothing.He really didn't want to clean out his storage room.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The hetalia fandom lives.

Oh

Pity child,

Your hands are scared

Your heart is torn

Your mind is weak

You believe the words your brothers have said

Do you not feel?

The knife in your eye

The arrow in your chest

The ache in your heart

Oh 

Pity 

You worthless child

  
  
  


Arthur sat in the conference room, trying to focus on what Germany was saying. But the meeting was as chaotic as ever. He tried desperately to distract himself. What else could he do? He was tired. Because for some reason, everyone he looked at, looked back at him with disgust. Was he imagining it ? Was his mind playing tricks? Was this just fatigue? Was everyone just having a bad day?

But what could it be.

What could it be other than disgust. Hatred. Pity.

After all, those are the only emotions he’s capable of conjuring 

It's all he was taught to do.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Mother!

Mother!

Where are you going!

Mother!

Mother!

Why are you going?

Mother 

Mother

Please

Don’t go

I am a young barin

I have nowhere to go

For you are my home

  
  
  


“Look!” screeched a small little england,”birdie!”

Her mother looked at where the little girl was pointing.

“That's a butterfly, love.”

Love.

Child.

Girl.

That's what her mother called her.

Because england was not england yet.

She was nothing.

Not yet

Even so, her mother had not bothered giving her a name. It wouldn’t have mattered either way. Arthur was perhaps 2 or 3. Her life was her mother, and she was all she needed. Because her life was full of love. And her life was full of joy with her.

Never would she have guessed that the mother she loved would abandon her so soon.

So carelessly.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Ouch!

Brother, your punches hurt

Ouch! 

Brother, your words hurt

Ouch

Why do you insist on destroying who I am?

Am i that 

Horrid?

  
  
  
  


“Cymru”

“Yes”

Are you ok, she wanted to say. Are you mad?

He looked mad to her. And why was he always so blunt? Never could he say more than a few words to her when they were traveling. He never looked her in the eye. It’s not like she wanted him to, though. She was wary of him. But that was--

She hadn't noticed that cymru was standing right in front of her.

“Listen” he said “i don’t want to hear your voice again”

And he grabbed her hair.

And he pulled out his old and worn down blade.

And cut.

“Do you understand, little brother?”

Cymru’s little brother nodded.

He understood.

Cymru told himself it was for the best.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Marceline, is it just you and me

In the wreckage of the world

That must be so confusing for a little girl

And i know your going to need me here with you

I need to save you

But whos going to save me

Please forgive me for whatever i do

When i hurt you

Marceline i can feel myself slipping away

I can't remember what i said

But i remember that i saw you frown

I swear it wasn't me

please forgive me for whatever i do

When i don't remember you

Marceline was running.

Running from his brother. The same brother that gave him that stupid name. Dylan had finally gotten tired of referring to his little brother in vague ways. So he gave him a name. Marceline was rather confused when he first heard it. It was a girl's name. And his big brother said that he was his  _ little brother,  _ not his little sister. So he told Dylan what he thought. Dylan responded with a series of vulgar profanities and a few smacks on the head. Marcieines brother never mentioned it again.

Which probably meant that Marceline wasn't his name. 

But he wanted a name.

So he decided, Marceline it was.

“STOP YOU LITTLE--”

Oh right, he was running from Dylan. Their relationship was rather violent, with Dylan breaking out into fits of rage and anger. It was odd. One second he would be calm and rather nice, and the other he’d have his fists around his neck. Marceline had learned it was best to stay away from his when this occurred. So he would run off and depending how well he was doing or if Dylan had begun to hunt him down, he would stay away for a few days to months. 

And now he was here, running away from his brother.

He didn’t want to be caught

Not after last time.

Not after all the other times.

Not after he felt the warm blood run down his hands. Or the suffocating pressure of the water in his lungs.  _ Oh  _ how it  _ hurt. _ The overwhelming feeling of dread, of fear as he died. The purple bruises that painted his sickly pale skin. What could possibly be worse. What? 

Marceline didn’t know.

All he knew was that he had a stupid name.

  
  


_ Thud _

‘ _ Let me go let me go let me go” _

_ “Shut up” _

_ “No no no no no no” _

_ “Shut up!” _

_ “I'm sorry i swear im sorry-” _

_ Thud _

Blow after blow came.

Bruise after bruise flourished

And Marceline did not want to die today. He didn’t want to.  _ Not today.  _ So he kicked. As hard as he could and he kicked _ and hit but it wouldn't work.  _

_ And he screamed _

_ He screamed a blood curdling scream. _

Because there was blood all over his face and a knife in his eye.

How did that even happen? He didn’t even see his brother get the knife out. Yet the bleeding child knew that it wasn't out of character. When, Marceline wondered, did his brother's name ever make him smile? Was there ever a time where he was not in constant agony, affliction, anguish, or distress? Or maybe his dear brother was in pain too. After all, misery loves company. He didn’t dwell on it, though.

He screamed and sobbed as the knife  _ twisted  _

And the world went black.

Yet in the shattering misery, all he could think was  _ why. _

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is born

I will find a way

to be your light 

Even when i am

At my darkest

So those sad eyes

Can see 

The joy it can see

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Marceline was wet when he woke up. Perhaps it was because he was partially submerged in water. A river, he thought. Dylan had thrown his bleeding, beaten corpse into a river.

A  _ river. _

Marceline hated rivers. Rivers had water, and water hurt.

Thus, this is why he ended up squealing and squirming out of the riverbed. He  _ hated  _ drowning, it hurt so much more than everything else. The suffocating, the pressure, his brother's laughter. It was unsupportable.

So he cried. He cried because his eye was still bleeding. He cried because he was scared of water. He cried because he knew his brother hated him.

Sobbing, soaked, and trembling, he limped away into the forest.

Perhaps mint bunny would coexist with him.

Maybe the fairies would come and offer him protection.

But he sobbed, because it was the beginning of winter, and all the fae had hidden away.

Clutching his right eye he screamed. For someone to come. But who would come for an unlovable child?

  
  
  


Eight days passed and he could not find his brother. Eight days have passed since he had eaten. And now his eye  _ ached _ and his stomach burned. He silently sobbed from the feeling of his stomach eating itself and his eye swelling. He cried as the tears burned his delicate torn skin.. Were the tears only coming out of one eye? He couldn’t tell.

The winter air burned his skin, attacking his thin green cape that offered so little protection. His white chemise stained with bloody handprints and, well, blood.

  
  


As the rain poured down, the child didn’t bother seeking shelter.

His mind was numb. He thought nothing as he walked. That would only do bad. Cause then he would think about the pain, and Dylan too.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


In hindsight maybe it was a bad idea. limping around mindlessly as it rained, one eye swollen shut. Yes, he thought as he went tumbling down the side of a hill, perhaps it was a bad idea. Marceline was good at coming up with bad ideas.

So he lay there, at the bottom of a hill. At least it was all grass, no rocks or plants. That didn't mean it was a harmless fall. He would definitely bruise later. For now, however, he just couldn't move. Everything seemed so pained and pointless.  _ Because all he could think of was his brother. _ All thoughts in his mind were about his brother. How he would tell him to smile as he pushed him out a tree. About how he’d hug him after he’d hit him with a rock. About how even now in his  _ misery _ he's selfish enough to think that maybe his brother was wrong. Maybe he did not deserve this. Maybe he was lovable. His brother was always right, though. He was a starving, unlovable little thing. He deserved to hurt. 

  
  
  


“Hey”

“..”

“That was quite a fall you took there, you seem like a clutz.”

“Are you listening to me? When someone talks to you, your supposed to respond, otherwise it's rude”

“Are you bleeding!? Was the fall that bad? What the-”

Who was the older girl talking to him, he didn't know. She was quite annoying. 

“ its raining, y’know”

He didn't respond. So the older ended up carrying him away. Accepting his fate, he fell asleep.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“So anyways, who are you?”

That's not something you should ask someone after you brought them to your home. If you could call what she had brought him to a home. It was a mere and simple shelter. Enough to protect from rain and wind, made of wood, and in a vague shape of a house. It had no door. Even so, was better than anything he had ever seen before.

“ Ok i’ll start then! I am the personification of Northumbria, but my name is Cara. Getting back on track, who are you? ”

He didn't say anything, because what could he say?

“ Do- do you have a name? An identity? You're rather young so… do you have anything i can call you?”

Again, no response. 

“ I'm taking that as a no.” Cara chirped “ so as your saviour and new guardian, I hereby proclaim you, um, Arthur!” 

Arthur didn't know what to say.

“I am the Kingdom of Wessex,.”

Cara smiled.

  
  


The way they leave 

Tells you all

Oh, why can't I take out the knife in my back?

  
  
  
  
  


‘ Say Arthur, I think you should let your hair grow out.”

“....huh”

“Ok but think about it!” she said excitedly, “ a young girl like you shouldn’t be wandering around with short hair! No offence, but you look like a boy. Let it grow out till it at least reaches your chin, ok.”

Arthur didn't know how to respond.

“But.. I’m a boy…”

“Arthur how old are you.”

“Seven”

“Ok, geez, has no one ever taught you anything? You're really young, so I guess that makes sense. Damn, why do i have to be the one to do this, shit. Also, you look like your five.”

Cara squatted down to talk to Arthur, who was sitting on the ground.

“ Listen Arthur, girls and boys have different parts. You have girl parts. You're a girl.”

“I was told I was a boy”

“Well whoever I told you that was wrong,” she said in a confident voice “Trust me , I checked while you were sleeping.’

Arthur was confused, but she didn’t 

question it. Cara was very nice. She washed the blood off her dress. She gave her food and water. Cara wouldn’t lie to arthur. So Arthur was a girl. But were not boys stronger than girls?

“I'm going to the river, dear, so go do what you do”

It had become like this. Cara would go to the river. She always came home with plants and herbs. Cara would then dry them, and store them away. Most likely for use later, in the harsh winter. It made sense. It was still early winter, after all, plants were still alive. It was important to prepare. You never know what the deep winter could offer.

Arthur was unofficially in charge of hunting. Mostly because she was too afraid to go to the river. With a bow Cara had, and an arrow she had made, Arthur would wander around the words, looking for rabbits or birds. Arthur would catch something often enough. Sometimes Cara came home with a fish. Sometimes Arthur would find wild berries or an apple tree. Sometimes they would both come back home empty handed.

But that was fine. Arthur had gone longer without food.

As long as she wasn't alone.

  
  
  
  


  
  
  


Arthur was shivering. It was winter, and the snow had fallen. It decorated the land. It shocked Arthur, how could something so pretty looking be so feared? Why did snow always come with ecstasy? Why did it always come with death? The people in the villages were always sheltered, hidden during winter. 

Meaning it was the perfect time to travel. 

And that was what they were doing.

For the first few days the two girls chatted only on irrelevant topics. Sometimes it was winter, or of their people, or even of Arthurs hair, which she actually quite liked, but would never admit. It was cut just below her chin. Cara also added fringes to her hair style. That wasn't the point, though.

“Where are we going”

“Well, Arthur, that thing we slept in for most of winter was not a house. It was a few chunks of wood piled together. My actual home and where you and I will live is up north. It's actually made of stone too!”

“Oh’

  
  
  


“You don’t speak much, do you Arthur?” questioned Cara “ do you even know where we are? We're in wessex. That's your land, that's your kingdom. Ain’t it pretty? Of course it's not as pretty as Northumbria. Northumbria is stunning, and it truely-”

“Why are you in wessex”

Cara looked at her warmly, with what seemed to be a knowing look on her face.

“Nothing gets by you, Arthur, '' she whispered “ you know, I actually wasn't going to tell you. But you're rather clever.”

She turned to Arthur.

“I came looking for you. And I'm pleasantly surprised that I found you vulnerable before anyone else did!” she smiled “a few other kingdoms were looking for you too.’

“Why?”

Cara dis not look Arthur in the eyes.

“Have you ever heard of Northmen?” she whispered.

Arthur's eyes widened.

  
  
  
  
  


Bloodshed

What is your obsession with bloodshed?

Why must you insist

On bloodshed

Can you not just take what you want

And leave 

The children

Alone

  
  
  


Who did not know the northmen. The men with broad shoulders and tall bodies, with blond hair and blue eyes. The men who destroy. Who did not know the men who only came to steal, to rape, to plunder, to kill. They terrorised her shores. At least the anglos, saxons, and Jutes had integrated into her society. At least they became part of her over time. But the northmen wanted nothing to do with her from what she knew. They simply came and left, leaving behind suffering. She still didn’t like the anglo saxons, though. Her brothers began their violence towards her when they invaded.

“ Ok, so us Kingdoms of the east decided that we didn’t wanna stay in our land. Well, I did. Cause it was ravaged by northmen far too often. I couldn’t bear to walk into a village, only to see the waters red.” she walked backwards as she spoke “ So I decided, why not go somewhere else? And you were the perfect candidate. So I told a few others, hey i'm going to wessex and they were like hey me too. That's when i know i screwed up because… the other kingdoms….aren't really that friendly. They probably wanted to do what they always do. Fight. Go to war. Hurt. So yeah, I'm happy i found you. Judging on the state you were in, not first, but I found you.”

It took a while for Wessex to fully process that.

“ oh, my brother did all  _ that _ to me, so don't concern yourself”’

Cara stopped dead in her tracks.

“Please,  _ elaborate  _ on that, love”

Arthur didn’t know when to stop sharing information when she was that young.

  
  
  


“Your brothers are arses!”

“What do you mean?”

“That little demon threw you into a river.  _ A river _ . After he stabbed your eye. Who does that?”

“I can't see out of that eye when I open it.”

“ _ What-” _

“It's not a big deal anyways. My big brother pierced my chest with an arrow once.”

“How many brothers do you have you little- I don't even know what you are.”

“Four’

“Elaborate”

“Cymru is my brother,” Arthur said as if it were obvious “Abla is my big brother, and then there are my beloved brothers. They are kind. They do not not hit me.”

Cara glanced at her. Her eyes invasive. Arthur didn't know what she looked at her with. It was like melancholy, or anger. It was something she had never seen before. It was something that filled her up with  _ something  _ she just didn’t know. She hated that look.

Arthur would later learn that it was pity.

Pity is the most benign form of abuse. It was humiliating, it meant that you were weak. Arthur hated it.

  
  
  
  
  


Oh

How the waters run

With the cruel

Want of others

Love did not exist

Not yet

But it could have

If not for the cruel

Want of others 

  
  
  
  


Arthur was worried. Cara had been sickly lately. She was weak. It took her longer to cover land. She frequently stopped to rest. She coughed and hacked when she thought Arthur wasn't around. Cara simply seemed  _ off _ . Arthur felt as if she could collapse any second. Yet Cara hid it all. Not very well, but still. If she hid it, then she was fine.

That's what Arthur told herself.

That's what Arthur wanted to be true.

  
  
  
  


Arthur spent all her life running. Hiding. Fleeing.

She knew when danger was near. She knew when tragedy was inevitable.

So when she saw him, a man, she knew he was dangerous. Everyone is a danger to Kingdoms, especially men. You never know who could be the enemy.

So she drew her bow, and shot.

  
  
  
  
  
  


She looked Cara in the eyes as she pulled out the arrow from the man's neck, and plunged it onto his chest.

“We must burn his body” she noted, her voice flat “ someone could find it”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Cara knew this child was of war. She knew the child would do anything, be capable of anything. She knew the child would tear herself apart to get what she wanted. She knew that the child would shatter others without a second thought. This child was a child of war. Born of war. Grown from war. Only ever taught war.

It was why she could kill so effortlessly. It made Cara ashamed. Shouldn't she be the one protecting her? She should be the one doing the dirty work, not Arthur. Not the child. She should be the one tainting herself. She should be the one to numb their emotions. That was the entire point of this journey.

Cara came to protect the child. The child did not know yet. Of the vikings, the northmen, that advanced in their lands. The child did not know that they would soon decide to stay. They would soon conquer. Everything seemed to be saying it.

So when she heard of Arthur, the child who rumours say was abandoned without guidance, Cara knew she would be the one to help it.

And Cara would try to leave this earth with the child in the best position possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur was maluable when she was young. Fitting whatever description she was given.  
> That didn't mean she never had doubts.


	3. The end of blossoming fields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter of Arthurs life comes to and end.

Enough of your bittersweet

You sugar rots my teeth

Clogs up arteries

Your bittersweet shit is a tragedy.

_ Bittersweet tragedy- Melanie Martinez _

  
  
  


Arthur clutched his cloak around himself. His cold, shivering, malnourished body moving through the woods. 

He was alone.

After Cara and Arthur arrived at the house, everything was fine. Arthur felt safe, he felt cared for.

And then Cara didn't come back one day.

She left for the river, and did not return. 

Arthur knew she was dead.

So he cut his hair back to the way it was before, and left. To where, he did not know, but as long as it was away from the memories of the one he almost loved.

Almost.

Arthur decided that he was a boy. Going from the fact that his brothers were alive, but not Cara, then perhaps it was more advantageous to be a boy. Or something like that.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


I'll only go to sleep for a second

Despite the fact that winter was almost over, Arthur was still shivering. He was weak. His body would shake uncontrollably from time to time, and his hands would tremble. A physical manifestation of his pitiful weakness.

Perhaps Arthur should have realized something was happening when he started to cough up blood. Perhaps he should have known his people were suffering.

But now, his little eight year old body couldn't handle the spasms and blood, and he collapsed. 

Little did he know that he was the only Anglosaxon kingdom left.

  
  
  
  
  
  


♡★♡★♡★♡★

  
  
  
  


Arthur watched as his people celebrated. He looked on to see his king, Alfred, as he charmed all those around him. Arthur loved his king. King Alfred was great, he was strong, and he defeated the danes, and kept him alive. He recognized what Arthur was the second he saw him. When Arthur had looked him in the eyes, his king knew .

Because what child looked a king, a warrior, in the eyes? Not a normal one. Much less a pale, scrawny, pathetic looking one. Not one who looked at him with utter desperation. As if he were saying  _ free me, save me _ .

And save him he did. 

Even then, Arthur wandered in the woods, coughing up blood.

He lived with the fae, roaming under their protection.

  
  
  


Pupils begin to observe

Watching the waste on this earth

Mamas don't love their kids like they used to

Letting them smoke their herbs

Nails bitten down to the nub

Palms at a fire as they rub

Soup never reaches its boil

Dinner aint the only thing they spoiled

Let the maggots and worms infest your brain

Got your memory of all timers begins

Let that hell of a drug emerge in your veins

And I, will claim that 

I love you

I am the one who birthed you

Skin tearing down to the bone

Freckles fall of as they're told

You soon realize your identity changes

No longer the person you were 

No longer the person you adored 

Let the maggots and worms infest your brain

Got your memory of all timers begins

Let that hell of a drug emerge in your veins

And I,

will claim that i love you

I am the one who birthed you

Thank you mama

For all you've done

Gave me cancer, and thick black lungs

Left me rotting on the street

Rather shoot up than have food to eat

Let the maggots and worms infest your brain

Got your memory of all timers begins

Let that hell of a drug emerge in your veins

And i, will claim that i love you

i am the one who birthed you

And i am the one who birthed you

Mamas don't love their kids like they used to

Letting them smoke their herbs.

_Birthing addicts- Melanie martinez_

  
  
  
  


Arthur was eleven. 

But despite that, he was still small and delicate. Easily breakable, easily caught. That didn't mean Arthur didn't know how to escape his brothers. Sometimes if he couldn’t hide from them, he could outrun them, but that was a difficult feat. So he usually just opted for other ways. Like throwing himself off a clif, slitting his own throat, or in more extreme cases, he would jump into a river. 

He hated doing that.

It was all for a good cause, though. 

His brothers would leave him alone if he was dead. After all, what's fun about cutting up a corpse? 

Arthur didn’t even have to worry about pain afterwards. Not with the beautiful poppy field that he practically lived in. He spent most of his time there, so it might as well be his home. The fae were so kind to show it to him.

After all, the sweet milk that the poppies produced were his only comfort. It numbed the pain, hunger, and fear that he lived in.

It was the only thing he needed to live

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Arthur was three years old when he watched his mother walk away.

It was raining when he woke up to nobody by his side. And he looked up to see his mother sitting there. So he called out. He called for his mother.

And she got up.

And walked away.

Without looking back, without a seam of remorse.

Without caring about the child who called her the world

She did it so simply.

Arthur reached his hand out, crying in the rain, as his mother faded in the distance.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Now when Arthur thinks about his mother, he does not remember much. He knew she was pretty and had nice eyes. He also knew she was brash and blunt, yet spoke tenderly.

But he had no feelings for her. He did not hate her, he did not love her. She was a stranger to him.

She was nothing to him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Where are we going, flying mint bunny?”

“To the forest! Where else silly!” chirped the mint colored flying bunny. “ The other fae want to see you!”

  
  
  


Arthur loved the fae. They were always so kind.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Coma baby with your sick head

The doctors saved you but your still dead

Through your scalp i would like to reach in

So i could pull out the monster you've been

But you would do anything to

Destroy the body that they rescued

your sick little head brain damaged and

Lying in that hospital bed

Coma baby the cry of your bones

And your skull when its split on the road

I wish I'd find all the lonely remnants

Of that left when your head cracked open

But you would do anything to

Destroy the body that they rescued

Your sick little head brain damaged and

Lying in that hospital bed

Lately i can't recognize you

The doctors light when they said they saved you

Your just the shell of the boy that you've been

And your dying, I can feel it

_ Coma baby- Nicole dollanganger _

  
  
  
  


“ What do you want, beloved ”

His brother looked at him.

“I just wanted to see you”

Arthur did not trust him. Yes,  _ this _ brother was kinder than the others, but his look was stern and unforgiving. One would be a fool to get on his bad side.

Arthur had a knack for getting on people's bad side. Allastor had always told England that he would sew his mouth shut one day. He didn’t doubt it.

“What do you want”

“Nothing’

Seamus had always been a man of few words. Arthur also spoke very little, if at all. They were a bad pairing, their conversations always bland.

  
  


“Why are your hands charred, brother”

  
  


Shit

“Dylan told me that you fell of a ledge, i came to see how you were healing”

Arthur was confused. His brothers never worried about him. In fact, they did the opposite, they laughed at his pain. They enjoyed watching his misery. They took out all of their anguish and anger on him. Even if seamus and patrick left him alone for the most part, they never cared about him.

“Why are your hands charred”

Arthur looked everywhere but Seamus. 

“I put them in the kindling of the fire,” he muttered “ I wanted to touch the red. “

  
  
  


Seamus wished the things he was told were not true.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Arthur was twelve. His brother and him were running.

A group of men were chasing them. Who they were, they did not know.

They knew harm was all the men could bring, so they ran.

And they ran

And they ran

And despite how much he hated Dylan, he loved him more.

“I'm sorry”

He whispered as he led them to the cliff.

_ Its for the best _

Under the cliff was a river, it could carry them away.

_ I'm sorry _

He thought as Dylan fell.

He followed right after.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Ow”

“Hush, brother”

Arthur laid on the ground, next to him was Dylan.

“I can scream really loud”

“What does this have to do with anything were doing” 

“ bet i can scream louder than you”

“With such a soft voice? I'd like to see that.” Dylan giggled.

They both laughed.

Joyful for once.

  
  


Arthur was thirteen years old when the Normans invaded.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's early childhood comes to an end, and soon a new chapter will start.
> 
> Yay I posted.  
> You may have noticed that these chapters on Arthur's younger years are rather short and undetailed. I think I did that to kinda show the vibes you see.  
> Arthurs childhood was empty and lonely. There is so much empty space filled with nothing. So much time he spent alone. He was insignificant compared to everyone else.  
> He learned that from the romans.
> 
> I see Arthur having having a tough time truly comprehending his younger years.  
> He especially hates his brothers for leaving him on his own.
> 
> Also his time spent with the romans is a tale for another time. Arthur would absolutely refuse to acknowledge or remember the time he spent with rome. So yeah.

**Author's Note:**

> I should be listening to my math teacher rn but i honestly don't care anymore.
> 
> So yeah um this is your first taste of my work. Honestly im shocked because I finally decided to actually contribute to this fandom, said im going to write fanfiction, and in 2 days i had 6,000 words. Im ashamed.
> 
> Anyways you can see that there are some poems in there. The last one is actually from adventure time, and I thought it just fit so perfectly into my story line. I also changed the lyrics a little, but all credits go to rebecca sugar.
> 
> Wales would just simply sit ther next to his brothers cold, beaten, body as remourse filled him. Yet even so, he would just keep doing it. 
> 
> I do not own hetalia.


End file.
